The Forecast That Was Not Enough

When New Zealand restricted almost all overseas visitor entry in March 2020, our cash reserve became the least romantic decision I had ever been glad to make. Work vanished from schedules. Clients asked for postponements, refunds and time to think. Kate’s hotel faced a future nobody there had chosen. We did not celebrate being prepared while friends counted losses. We returned what was owed, renegotiated what could honestly be changed and looked for work our existing capabilities could deliver without pretending every problem was an opportunity waiting for a clever man.

Rose organized remote production with performers working under arrangements we could responsibly manage. Erin improved distribution. Alice introduced potential institutional commissions but did not award us work without their own review. We made learning and interpretation material, helped organizations communicate clearly and paid contributors for the work actually delivered. Revenue fell before it recovered. I was not a prophet standing on a mountain of profit while everyone else suffered. I was a founder with a reserve, a team and a chance to make decisions less frightened people might later respect.

Then I made the mistake my old life could not warn me about. To win a large fictional commercial commission, I accepted a client’s request for broad reuse rights over a collection of work we had only licensed for specified purposes. I assumed we could buy the extra rights later. I remembered the client becoming successful, and I wanted us attached to that success. The agreement went no further than a signed proposal and preliminary payment, but it was far enough to make Tui ask whether I thought the creators’ permission would eventually become a formality.

I tried to explain the size of the deal. She asked me to explain the rights. I could not. The people involved were fictional contributors whose commercial and creative choices were theirs, not obstacles a future millionaire could smooth away. Iris confirmed that our offer had promised more than our existing permissions covered. The buyer did not want a narrower package. Returning the preliminary payment and paying for the preparation would hurt. Trying to force the deal through would hurt something harder to price. Tui told me she would leave if I chose the second route.

Rose was furious that I had let her plan a production around an assumption. Hana wanted to know whether the film about her hands might be sold into a use she had never agreed to. Jess said the studio’s careful language meant very little if it only applied to small contracts. I had spent years resenting an employer who treated my work as his property. Now I had almost repeated the same habit with better furniture. I returned the payment, covered the direct costs from company reserves and apologized without attaching a lecture about my intentions.

The buyer walked away. We lost a large anticipated fee and a smaller but real amount already spent. We did not lose the studio. Tui agreed to stay after we changed approval responsibilities so I could not make that promise alone again. Over the next year, our smaller contracts grew into a steadier business with clearer terms. Some clients liked us more because they knew we had refused to sell what we did not own. I preferred that explanation to a heroic one. I had made an expensive mistake and been stopped by people whose trust was worth earning back.

Kate found me at home after the worst meeting. I told her about 2026, the sofa, the old recording and the decade in my head. She listened, then asked whether I had spent all that extraordinary time learning to avoid telling people what I wanted. It was the question I deserved. I said I wanted to be with her, clearly, without leaving other women to interpret my silences. Kate said she wanted that too, but an impossible confession did not make the necessary conversations disappear. We sat together until I stopped searching for a way to make them painless.

Tui was hurt but unsurprised. Rose was disappointed enough to ask for a little distance outside work. I did not tell either woman they had misunderstood an invitation I had been happy to keep open. I spoke honestly with the others, accepted what changed and let some friendships become quieter. Later Kate took my hand on a walk by the water and said I seemed oddly less impressive. I laughed. She said she meant easier to know. It was a better compliment than I had received from any investor.